


i don't mean to put on any pressure (but I know when a thing is right)

by bookishandbossy



Series: the next four years (college au) [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff, Moving In Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6412294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookishandbossy/pseuds/bookishandbossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Graduation is approaching and while Jemma Simmons might not be sure of everything about her future, she knows that she wants to have Leo Fitz in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i don't mean to put on any pressure (but I know when a thing is right)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maybesandsomedays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybesandsomedays/gifts).



> Written as part of a timestamp fic giveaway, when the lovely Cindy requested another installment in the college AU.

Fitz asked her to move in with him permanently a month and a half before graduation. They were lying on the couch in their living room, his arms wrapped firmly around her and their hands intertwined in front of her. They were supposed to be watching _Doctor Who_ but the credits had scrolled about an hour ago and both of them had been too lazy to move, even to pick up the boxes of Thai food scattered around the room. Most of the winter had been spent huddled under a succession of blankets and comforters, including on one memorable occasion an architecturally sound blanket fort, but the day had been unusually warm for late March and Fitz had talked her into only having the Tardis blanket instead of her usual cocoon.

“I'll keep you warm,” he'd promised, slipping an arm around her waist and spreading his hand flat against her stomach in a way that had made her daydream for a good ten minutes about all the ways in which he could keep her warm.

“Fitz?” she whispered now and twisted around to press her lips to his pulse. 

“Mmm?” He sounded half-asleep so Jemma poked him in the arm to wake him up.

“Have we had sex on this couch yet?” she asked and slid one finger through his belt loops, tugging him closer until he was pressed tight against her.

“We definitely have. Remember, we christened it when we bought it to replace the old couch? The one we broke?” Fitz added around a massive yawn. “And Skye's going to get back from the library any minute now and I'm already supposed to be paying for years of therapy for all the other times she walked in on us.”

“Remind me why we have a roommate? Who I love dearly,” Jemma added quickly. Just in case the webcam Skye had set up in the kitchen to find out who was stealing her Nutella was still working. (It had been Fitz, but Jemma had been the one egging him on.)

“Because rent is expensive and Skye worked it so we get wifi for free,” Fitz said. “When we get our own apartment after graduation, we can christen every room in the house. Promise.”

“We're getting our own apartment after graduation?” Jemma sat up, ignoring Fitz's disgruntled noise when she pulled away, and turned to fix a full stare on him. “And when were you going to ask me if I wanted to get our own apartment?”

“I didn't ask you?” Fitz blinked at her blearily. “Shit. I'm sorry. I had this whole plan for how I was going to ask you—there was going to be dinner, and I was going to give you these measuring cups that had a bunch of photos of prospective apartments rolled up inside them. Trip helped me plan it. I just...I thought that since we're going to be in the same grad program and we've been sharing an apartment for the last year, that maybe we could get one again. Just us. You always keep on complaining that you don't get to decorate enough, anyway and I--”

“Fitz,” Jemma cut him off gently. “You really want to live with me permanently? Cat liver and all?”

“Of course I do.”

“Good then. Because I want to live with you permanently too, disgusting onion sandwiches and all.” She leaned in to kiss him deeply, letting him tug her into his lap and firmly burying both hands in his hair. He'd cut it recently and while she mourned the loss of the curls, there was something strangely appealing about this older Fitz's short hair and stubble. Sometimes, she looked back on the people they'd been freshman year, shy and awkward and achingly eager to get it right, on Fitz's shy smile and threadbare Flash t-shirts. They'd been so different, so completely unsure of where they wanted to be in the world, but somehow they still fit together as perfectly as they had from the very first time she'd slipped a note under his door. 

“Now,” Jemma said, looping her arms around his neck and trying to sound demanding. “Please carry me to bed and do as many impolite things to me as you possibly can.”

“I...” He kissed her again and scooped her up. “I will try my very best.”

“Right. Well, expect a full performance report after--” She was cut off quite promptly by Fitz kissing her again and swinging her down onto their bed. (Theoretically, Fitz had his own room for appearances' sake but they'd been using it to store microscope slides.) Either way, she suspected that the full performance report would be entirely satisfactory. 

 

Apartment hunting wasn't nearly as interesting as the bad reality TV shows Skye's boyfriend watched made it look. There were no dramatic deals, or bats roosting in the attic, just a long string of thoroughly mediocre apartments with ugly carpeting and no shelf space. They'd nearly given up hope when they finally found the apartment. The wiring needed repairs and the stove top was caked in some kind of suspicious substance, but the windows were big enough to let in the morning sunlight and there was enough space along the walls of the living room to put in bookshelves. Fitz just liked the lofted bedroom, probably because it fulfilled all the tree house fantasies he'd never gotten to have growing up in urban Glasgow.

“It's so cute,” Skye said when they gave her the initial tour. “Like a tiny hobbit cottage, only hopefully no one shows up with a ring.”

Fitz just scowled at her and changed the subject to the repairs he was going to do on the kitchen. They'd gotten their landlord to knock the rent down by a third in exchange for Fitz doing repairs on anything that seemed about to collapse and Jemma had been very smug about it, even when Fitz had complained about being slave labor. It was funny but standing there and watching him sketch out the lines of their finished apartment, Jemma couldn't help seeing them living here for years and years. Slowly filling up the Ikea bookshelves Fitz would grumble about assembling, trying to grow little clay pots of basil on their fire escape, learning precisely how to calibrate the oven to make gooey cinnamon buns and baked French toast on Sunday mornings, squeezing as many people as they could into the living room for parties that would probably end up breaking the fire code.

And really, if she was honest with herself, she couldn't imagine spending that time with anyone else. When she sat at her desk and pulled up her five and ten year plans, Fitz was always there in the back of her mind and she couldn't imagine anyone else in his place. She hadn't planned on forever but she hadn't exactly planned on...not forever either. 

“Jemma? Where were you thinking of putting the couch?” Fitz interrupted, jolting her out of her thoughts. He was beaming at her, even about something as remarkably mundane as a couch, and Jemma felt her heart give a little skip. Fitz still made her remarkably giddy, like a schoolgirl getting her first valentine, and she couldn't help crossing the room to quickly kiss him, ignoring Skye's loud “eew”. She leaned her head against his shoulder as she pointed out exactly where she wanted the couch and very nearly purred in content.

By the time graduation came around, the apartment they shared with Skye was covered in boxes and Jemma thought that she could die a happy woman if she never saw another roll of packing tape again in her life. They'd been up late packing the last few things and when her alarm went off promptly at 7:30, blaring Beethoven from across the room, Fitz groaned and buried his face in the pillows.

“Fitz, get up,” she mumbled. “I need you to go turn off the alarm.”

“Why can't you go turn off the alarm?” Fitz asked the pillow.

“Because you'll fall asleep again if you don't get up,” Jemma said with an air of triumph and pushed him a little in the direction of her alarm clock. “Now go.”

“Won't you fall asleep too if you don't get up?” Fitz pointed out.

“Nope, I have better self control than that.” Two minutes later, after she'd heard Fitz get up and the alarm switch off, Jemma snuggled happily back down into the sheets. Which were suddenly and cruelly snatched away from her and sent sailing across the room. “Hey!” she sat up, indignant. “I was very awake.”

“Right.” Fitz nodded and gave where she was curled up a serious look. Then, he pounced, sweeping down to pick her up and deposit her on the floor. “Come on. We don't want to be late for all the awards ceremonies—all those shiny trophies to collect.”

“I think it's certificates, actually. Much less fun,” Jemma said with a sigh and pushed herself to her feet.

“ Nice decoration for our new bedroom, then.”

“Leopold Fitz, if you think I'm letting you hang certificates on our bedroom wall, you are sorely mistaken.” Jemma crossed her arms and tried to look authoritative. Admittedly, it was a bit hard to do in Fitz's stretched out Spiderman t-shirt and with her hair sticking straight up, but she narrowed her eyes and did her very best. “Now, I'm going to go take a shower and make myself look presentable. And after the blanket stunt, you are decidedly not invited.”

Fitz tried his best puppy dog eyes on her. They were only somewhat successful and in spite of their best efforts, they actually both managed to arrive at graduation on time. The day itself was mostly a blur of speeches (“They forgot to mention the latest research in the field,” Jemma whispered to him), an endless series of walking across stages (“Do you think they'd notice if I slipped off for a snack?” Fitz asked her), and smiling so wide for photographs that her cheeks hurt afterward. And after they were finally released, they spent the next four hours loading boxes into Fitz's run-down car, Mack's truck, and Skye's even more run-down car and driving them over to their new apartment in Brooklyn. (“Land of the hipsters,” Skye declared after she started counting coffee places.)

The best part came at night they headed out for dinner with Skye, Trip, Mack, Jemma's friend Bobbi, and Skye's foster parents Phil and Melinda at a local Thai place. Mack challenged Fitz to a hot chili pepper eating contest, Skye told as many embarrassing freshman year stories as she could remember, Trip instantly became Phil and Melinda's favorite, and Bobbi talked Jemma into ordering a series of shockingly named tiki drinks with her. It was nearly midnight by the time they got back to the apartment, too tired to unpack anything more than bedding.

Fitz flopped onto the bed face-down the moment that they finished with the pillows and refused to move. “Do you remember which box my pajamas were in?” Jemma asked him, frowning down at the boxes scattered everywhere around their bedroom.

“A brown one,” Fitz said faintly. “Or maybe we put them in one of the suitcases?”

“Yours or mine?”

“Mine, I think. You ran out of room in yours 'cause you were trying to fit that leather jacket Skye gave you in there. Said you didn't want to unpack it.” Fitz yawned massively, yanked off his t-shirt and jeans, and crawled under the covers. “Good night. Wake me up in about twelve hours.” He yawned again, pulled a blanket over his head, and buried himself among the pillows.

“Good night, Fitz,” Jemma said and smiled fondly at him. It shouldn't take her long to find her pajamas, even in the black hole of chaos that was sure to be Fitz's suitcase, and then she could crawl into bed beside him and cuddle. She sat cross legged on the floor, unzipped his massive duffel bag, and began sorting through the drifts of clothing. T-shirt, jeans, more jeans, button-down shirts that she'd made him buy, massive cardigan, more t-shirts, box. Box? 

Fitz never put anything in boxes. Jemma plunged her hand into the bag again and pulled the box out. It was covered in black velvet and small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, too small to really hold anything except—Jemma stopped. Turned the box over to look at it from all sides, fingers lingering over the catch. There were two things to do. She could put it back in the bag and pretend that she'd dreamed it all. Or she could open it and know. Only, in a way, she thought that she already did. 

She skimmed her fingers over the top of the velvet one more time, then tucked it back into the bag and grabbed one of Fitz's old t-shirts to sleep in. Her pajamas (and everything else) could wait until the morning. Now, she curled up against his side and fell asleep almost instantly 

When she woke up in the morning and went into the kitchen to make breakfast, she left a note resting on the covers. _I love you, Fitz_ , it read. _So very much._

There was another note waiting for her when she came back into the bedroom. _I love you too. Always have, always will._


End file.
